by J K Franko
It was at this point that fate’s fickle finger began to toy with Susie Font. Despite the prenatal vitamins, maternity yoga, and meditation, she suffered numerous complications. The nausea she could handle. But when the bleeding began, her doctor prescribed bed rest. Despite following doctor’s orders to the letter, her condition did not improve. She spent the second half of her pregnancy in bed.
Just three weeks from her due date, fate’s cruel fingers curled into a fist and punched Susie in the belly. No matter how many times they rescanned at Susie’s request, the result was the same. One little heart had stopped beating. Their little boy. Their precious baby boy had died.
There followed three weeks of agonizing bipolarity. On the one hand, Susie felt joy and anticipation at being only weeks away from holding her baby girl. Simultaneously, she suffered with the grotesque knowledge that her little girl was gestating in her womb, next to her brother’s corpse.
Mercifully, the delivery went off without a hitch. Their little girl came into the world without any complications. Seven pounds, five ounces. Nineteen inches long. They named her Camilla, after Susie’s grandmother.
As she held her baby in her arms, Susie allowed herself to believe that, somehow, she had cheated fate. She was wrong.
Fate’s next move took the form of Liam Bareto. And, while Liam paid for his mistake with his life, as far as Susie was concerned, fate won. Camilla was gone.
Now, three years later, Susie was sitting on the dock behind her house. The breeze played with her hair. She closed her eyes and imagined that it was Camilla’s fingers playing with her hair. She could almost feel Camilla kissing her forehead.
Although she’d conceived two children, fate took one before birth, and the second at sixteen. And Susie felt she had failed them both.
The tears came. She let them tickle her cheek. Her mind wandered back to the radio interview and the phone call from Bareto’s mother. She wiped her face and eyes and sighed.
Maybe her therapist was right. This third-anniversary thing was affecting her more than she thought. She’d been thinking a lot about Camilla, obviously.
But something had happened to Susie during the radio interview. She had analyzed it as she ran. Liz Bareto was relentless in her pursuit of “the truth” about her son’s death. Three years later, she was still beating the same drum. She was driven, passionate. Susie admired Bareto’s drive, even though she thought it was ill advised.
Susie did not feel the same passion. In comparison, her advocacy work felt empty, meaningless. A waste of time. And as she sat on the dock, she felt she understood, for the first time, how important her maternal side was to her own identity.
Camilla had been her purpose in life. When she died, Susie was gutted—spiritually. Camilla’s death left a hole in Susie’s soul.
Roy had suffered the same loss. But he had filled that hole with work. He had immersed himself in his company, and he thrived. Susie had sought to do the same with advocacy. It was her way of attempting to right the wrong that had been done to her daughter. To avenge her.
But, what did she really have to show for her efforts? No new legislation had passed. Her attempt to increase fines and penalties for texting while driving had failed. What she felt as she sat in the radio studio, and what she’d admitted to herself when she’d gone on her run, was that she was just going through the motions.
The cause was a good one. But Susie felt no passion for it. And worse, after three years, she had nothing to show for all her efforts. No results.
She lacked purpose—this was her realization. She was by nature a mother. A nurturer. A protector. And with Camilla gone, she had no one to nurture, no one to protect.
Liz Bareto’s call was what got Susie thinking about her own purpose in life.
About righting wrongs.
It got Susie to thinking about Tom and Deb Wise, and their daughter Kristy.
Susie needed a purpose.
She was a protector.
She understood, perhaps for the first time fully, that this was her path.
CHAPTER TEN
As Susie sat on the dock watching a spotted eagle stingray glide through the water, contemplating her plan, her phone “pinged.”
Call me. Home soon.
A text message from Roy.
He’d called several times, starting just after the radio show. But Susie still hadn’t responded. Even if her plan was feasible, what would she tell Roy?
She wouldn’t have been sitting where she was if it wasn’t for Roy. The two of them had built a life together. But it was complicated.
The thing is, Susie had known who Roy was long before meeting him. She had, in fact, sought him out. How Susie knew of him and how she’d found him were secrets that she would eventually share with me. But, as she sat there on that dock, if asked, she would have sworn that she would never tell anyone—ever.
Things change.
To Susie, Roy was amazing in many ways. She believed he could accomplish anything he put his mind to. That’s why she had pushed him to go into business. She knew he had more to offer, and to gain, in business than in law. And, more importantly, she knew it would make him happier.
She was right.
Yet, for all his strengths, Roy was also a bit broken. At least, he seemed that way to Susie. Roy was practically an orphan. When they met, she had to really pry to get any details at all from him about his childhood. And what she got was minimal.
To say his family was dysfunctional was an understatement.He was estranged from both of his parents. His twin had died when Roy was young, which pretty much killed his parents’ marriage. Roy had been sent off to live in Galveston with his grandmother.
Now, having gone through what they had with Camilla’s death, Susie could sympathize.
Susie had never met her mother-in-law. She’d drunk herself to death before Roy and Susie married.
Roy’s father had attended their wedding, but only after Susie had insisted against Roy’s wishes. When she’d met him, it was all she could do not to gasp. He was a shadow of a man—rumpled, twitchy, with hands that trembled when he shook hers as if he had some kind of disease.
Despite his bedraggled appearance, she could nonetheless see her husband in him. He was lean like Roy, with high cheekbones and thick black hair. He had Roy’s intense, deep green eyes and perfect teeth. The main differences, aside from age, were that Roy has a crooked smile—the right side always goes up more than the left for some reason—and their skin tone. Roy had inherited his mother’s light complexion. Roy’s father was dark-skinned, ethnic.
Susie’s phone rang, snapping her back to the present. She watched it ring, studying the word Roy on the screen, along with a picture of that crooked smile of his. And she came to a decision. A big decision.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Suze! Where have you been? I was worried about you. You alright?”
“Hi. Yeah. Sure,” she said softly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
Silence. The water sloshed just below Susie in response to something big moving just under the surface.
“So? How did it go?” Roy asked, his voice light and positive.
Susie sighed, her thoughts swirling around in her brain like a whirlpool. “Um, good. All good. I think it went okay. Except the end, I guess. How did it sound live?” She scrunched her nose.
“Okay? The whole piece was great! The end...hardly noticeable. Roni’s a pro. It sounded like you three were actually going to chat after the show.” Roy paused. “You didn’t, did you?”
Susie clicked her tongue. “No. Of course not. Roni is good, though. It sounded okay to me, but I wanted to get your impression—you know, from the outside.”
“Well, yeah. It was smooth. Well handled. I’m really proud of you.” There was another pause. “Listen, babe, you
home? I’m practically pulling up to the house.”
“Oh.” Susie smiled. “Sure. I’m out back. See you in a bit. Um, I also have an idea I want to run by you.”
“Right. Okay… well, see you in five. Bye.”
Susie dropped the phone between her legs. She was sitting cross-legged on the dock. She watched the wind ripple across the water and a jumping fish freeing itself, temporarily, from the weight of its watery world. She spotted the large stingray again. Prowling. Hunting. A predator seeking prey.
The symbolism was as clear to her as the sun was warm on her face. She breathed deep and took comfort in what she saw there as an omen.
Minutes later, she heard a car door close and the sound of footsteps on the dock behind her. She didn’t turn around, just waited for Roy to sit down next to her. He was still wearing his suit, no tie.
“Hey, you,” he said, softly.
“Hey,” she said, smiling back.
“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning forward to make eye contact with her.
“I’m good,” she said, flashing another smile, but Roy could tell there was something on her mind.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
She hesitated, feigning interest in the lapping water before saying, “You’re going to think... well, I don’t know what you’re going to think.”
“Try me,” he urged with a reassuring smile.
“Well,” she began, “all this has got me thinking. By all this I mean, it’s been three years now, you know, since Camilla. And all the emotions, they’re not as raw, but they’re still there, you know?” Roy nodded but didn’t respond, allowing his wife to continue. She looked at him and said, earnestly, “Don’t get me wrong. I know that whatever we do now, whatever happens, nothing is going to bring her back. Nothing. I know that. Anyway. It got me to thinking about the folks we met up at Beaver Creek.”
“The nutjobs?” Roy asked, flippantly.
Susie scowled, then looked away, silent.
Roy noted her reaction. “Suze, sorry, but I don’t understand. What do they have to do with anything?”
“Do you really think they’re crazy?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I mean, hearing Liz Bareto again today brought it all back. All of the feelings. The anger. The despair. The emptiness.” Susie turned toward Roy and through gritted teeth added, “The hate.”
Roy didn’t respond.
“Think about it. If we wanted that son of a bitch Bareto dead... just for being stupid, just for texting, can you imagine how it must feel for them? How you would feel if someone had intentionally set out to hurt Camilla. I wanted Bareto dead. I really did. I mean, I could taste it. And he was just careless. Just imagine what we’d want to do to him if he had intentionally hurt our baby girl.”
Roy nodded, unable to speak from the knot that had formed in his throat.
“Think about it. I mean take a few to really think about how it would feel if someone had hurt our baby and got away with it like this guy Harlan did?”
“I... can’t,” Roy said, shaking his head and looking out to the horizon.
“Well, I can,” Susie said evenly. “I can understand perfectly why they’d want revenge. I can understand, because I still do.” She hesitated, and then added, “And what worries me is that you don’t. There’s a gap here, Roy, between us. Between you and me. An empty space. We didn’t protect her. We failed her. We failed our daughter. And it’s tearing me apart. It’s tearing us apart.”
Roy swallowed hard. Susie had hit a soft spot. She knew he had been crushed by his parents’ divorce, and that he would do anything not to follow their path.
They sat in silence for a while, each processing their respective thoughts.
A long while.
Too long.
Susie looked at her husband and watched as he sat, jaw flexing, staring across the water. Then, suddenly, she jumped to her feet and began walking back toward the house.
“Suze?”
“Don’t fucking ‘Suze’ me, Roy,” she threw over her shoulder.
“I thought you wanted to talk.”
She whirled back at him. “I did! I did talk. It’s a two-way street, Roy. I am talking. You’re just sitting there.”
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, standing and facing her, but his shoulders were slouched, his hands thrust in his pockets like a naughty child.
“Fuck!” she screamed. “Something. Anything. The ‘strong silent type’ thing only works if there is some ‘strong’ to back up the ‘silent.’ You’re just fucking silent. All of your fucking planning, all of your fucking philosophizing... but when it comes to feeling something, saying something, doing something... you’ve got nothing.”
Roy gaped at her. He had no idea where all of this was coming from. He thought they were past this. Could he have truly been so blind? The ineptitude of his blindness seared hot shame onto his cheeks.
Susie looked around to see if anybody was listening to them and then lowered her voice anyway as she walked slowly back toward him. “Do you even care? Tell me. Do you even miss her? Camilla? Our daughter? Our only child? Our baby?” He said nothing, and her voice rose to almost a scream again, “Do you have a fucking ounce of emotion for her? For us?” she seethed, tears welling in her eyes.
“You know I do.” he said quickly, in an effort to diffuse her anger.
“Well, why don’t you show it?” she asked, her voice thick with exasperation, like a mother scolding her disappointment of a child. “When Camilla died, I felt empty. Hollow. Like someone had reached down my throat and ripped out my insides. I was dead. And when I was lucid enough to realize I wasn’t, I wanted to die. And worse, I carried this suffocating belief that she never truly knew just how much I loved her. Losing her almost destroyed me. I wanted to do something to show her how I felt. To prove how much I loved her. Why do you think I quit TV? Why do you think I do all this... this advocacy shit? I thought I could show her. I thought I could channel the energy... the hate... into something good. Positive. In her memory. For her.”
Roy swallowed, then cleared the lump in his throat and looked into his wife’s blazing eyes. He kept his voice even and calm. “Susie. It’s been three years. It’s the anniversary. It makes perfect sense that you’re feeling like this. I do too. But I have to keep it under control because if I don’t… ” the words died in his throat.
“What?” she prompted, impatiently.
“If I don’t. Then I won’t be able to see you clearly. To be there for you.”
Hot tears burned down Susie’s cheeks as she stifled a sob. “You don’t get it. You just don’t get it. You don’t get me... ” Then, she allowed the tears to come, slowly at first and then with familiar heart-wrenching convulsions as she dropped to her knees.
Roy crouched next to her, slowly at first, warily. “Susie. Babe. I’ve got you.” He cooed, “I love you.” He pulled her into his arms and was flooded with relief when she didn’t push him away. “We’re doing great. We’re in a good place.” He stroked her hair, gently. “You’re going to be okay. You’ve come so far.”
Susie stiffened. Then, suddenly, pushed him away to the point that he lost his balance and fell onto his ass on the deck. She stood and wiped her eyes and nose on the back of her arm. She was done crying. She looked at him, her face glowering. “Come so far? You’ve come so far,” she repeated in a singsong voice. “What the FUCK does that even mean? Far from where, Roy? From crazy? So far from fucking crazy? At least I reacted. Where the fuck were you? At the office? In meetings?” she spat.
Roy rose to his feet. “That’s not fair,” he said in a measured voice.
“Fair?” She walked up to him and poked a finger into his chest. “You want to talk about what’s fair? Really? Fair? That fucker took our daughter from us, Roy. Was that fair? Her head was crushed because of him. Was that fair? She’s ro
tting in a coffin right now, as we speak, because of him. Was that fair?
“Me, hating his fucking guts. Is that fair? Yes, it is. And would anyone blame me for it? No, they wouldn’t. And am I happy he’s dead? I’m glad he’s rotting in the ground. So. Fucking. Glad.” She paused to take a tremulous breath before adding, “I only wish I’d done it. No,” she continued. “I wish you’d done it. I wish you’d cared enough about your daughter... our daughter... to do something about it. I wish you’d had the balls to... ” she choked back tears. “I wish you’d had the balls to avenge our baby girl!”
With that, she turned and left, leaving Roy to gawk after her, shell-shocked.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Radio show host Veronica Rios sat pensively at her desk. Her boss had just left her office. After complimenting her on the day’s show, he’d asked about the last caller during the Susie Font interview.
“What was that all about?”
Veronica had blown it off as “nothing,” and he’d nodded and let it go.
But she wasn’t so sure.
She’d known Susie Font for years. She knew her to be a good journalist and a good person. If there’s one thing Veronica was good at, it was getting the measure of people.
But, not unlike her friend, she also had a good nose for news. And there was something about the Bareto/Font exchange that was bugging her.
She was biting the tip of her pen and staring at the phone number scrawled on the yellow sticky note in front of her. As much as she tried to resist the urge, she couldn’t stop herself from picking up the phone and dialing.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
“This is Liz. Please leave a message at the tone.”
Veronica hesitated, but figured that she had nothing to lose.
“Mrs. Bareto, this is Veronica Rios from Veronica in the Morning. I’m sorry we got disconnected at the end of the show. I’m going to leave you my mobile number, you know, in case you’d like to talk... ”
